"BIRDIE, birdie, will you pet?
Summer is long a-coming yet;
You'll have silken quilts and a violet bed,
And a pillow of satin for your head."
"There's a prettier bed in the ivy wall,
Where I live with my brothers and sisters and all,
And every day some garden tree
Brings a message from summer to me."
"O birdie, birdie! will you pet?
Diamond stones and amber and jet,
We'll string in a necklace fair and fine,
To deck this pretty bird of mine."
"Thanks for your diamonds and amber and jet,
But there's a necklace far better yet;
A ring of feathers of changing hue,
Lighter, and smoother, and warmer too."
"O birdie, birdie! won't you pet?
We'll bring you a dish of silver fret,
A golden cup and an ivory seat,
And carpets soft beneath your feet."
"There's no running water in cups of gold,
Free food a silver dish can't hold
A rocking twig beats an ivory chair,
And the softest paths lie through the air.
So adieu, fair lady, adieu!"
SPEAK GENTLY.
SPEAK gently! it is better far
To rule by love than fear :
Speak gently! let no harsh words mar
The good we might do here.
*Laserted, together with "Before Breakfast," p. 105, by permission
Speak gently! love doth whisper low
The vows that true hearts bind;
And gently friendship's accents flow-
Affection's voice is kind.
Speak gently to the little child,
Its love be sure to gain;
Teach it in accents soft and mild :
It may not long remain.
Speak gently to the young, for they
Will have enough to bear :
Pass through this life as best they may,
"Tis full of anxious care.
Speak gently to the aged one,
Grieve not the careworn heart;
The sands of life are nearly run—
Let such in peace depart.
Speak gently, kindly, to the poor,
Let no harsh tone be heard;
They have enough they must endure,
Without an unkind word.
Speak gently to the erring; know
They may have toiled in vain :
Perchance unkindness made them so;
Oh, win them back again!
Speak gently! He who gave His life
To bend man's stubborn will,
When elements were in fierce strife
Said to them, "Peace, be still!
Speak gently!-'tis a little thing
Dropped in the heart's deep well;
The good, the joy which it may bring,
Eternity shall tell.
INTO a ward of unwhitewashed walls,
Where the dead and the dying lay-
Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls—
Somebody's Darling was borne one day.
Somebody's Darling! So young and so brave,
Wearing still on his pale, sweet face,
Soon to be hid by the dust of the grave,
The lingering light of his boyhood's grace.
Matted and damp are the curls of gold
Kissing the snow of that fair young brow;
Pale are the lips of delicate mould ;-
Somebody's Darling is dying now!
Back from the beautiful blue-veined face
Brush every wandering silken thread;
Cross his hands as a sign of grace ;-
Somebody's Darling is still and dead!
Kiss him once for somebody's sake,
Murmur a prayer, soft and low;
One bright curl from the cluster take-
They were somebody's pride, you know.
Somebody's hand had rested there.
Was it a mother's, soft and white ?
And have the lips of a sister fair
Been baptized in those waves of light?
God knows best! He was somebody's love; Somebody's heart enshrined him there; Somebody wafted his name above,
Night and morn on the wings of prayer; Somebody wept when he marched away, Looking so handsome, brave, and grand; Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay; Somebody clung to his parting hand.
Somebody's watching and waiting for him,
Yearning to hold him again to her heart;
There he lies with his blue eyes dim,
And smiling, childlike lips apart.
Tenderly bury the fair young dead,
Pausing to drop on his grave a tear;
Carve on the wooden slab at his head,
66 Somebody's Darling lies buried here!"
PEOPLE'S MAGAZINE.
"OH, father, dear father, why pass they away,
The dewdrops that sparkled at dawning of day,
That glittered like stars by the light of the moon,
Oh, why are those dewdrops dissolving so soon?
Does the sun, in his wrath, chase their brightness away,
As though nothing that's lovely might live for a day?
The moonlight has faded, the flowers still remain,
But the dew has dried out of their petals again."
"My child," said the father, "look up to the skies,
Behold yon bright rainbow-those beautiful dyes;
There, there are the dewdrops in glory reset,
'Mid the jewels of heaven they are glittering yet.
Then are we not taught, by each beautiful ray,
To mourn not earth's fair things though fleeting away?
For, though youth of its brightness and beauty be riven,
All that withers on earth blooms more brightly in heaven."
Alas for the father! how little knew he
The words he had spoken prophetic could be!
That the beautiful child, the bright star of his day,
Was e'en then, like the dewdrops, dissolving away!
Oh, sad was the father, when lo! in the skies
The rainbow again spread its beauteous dyes;
And then he remembered the maxims he'd given,
And thought of his child and the dewdrops-in heaven.
THANKFULNESS.
SOME murmur when the sky is clear
And wholly bright to view,
If one small speck of dark appear
In their great heaven of blue.
And some with thankful love are filled
If but one streak of light,
One ray of God's good mercy, gild
The darkness of their night.
In palaces are hearts that ask,
In discontent and pride,
Why life is such a dreary task,
And all good things denied.
And hearts in poorest huts admire
How love has in their aid
(Love that not ever seems to tire)
Such rich provision made.
THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL.
THE mountain and the squirrel
And the former called the latter "Little Prig." Bom replied,
"You are doubtless very big,
But all sorts of things and weather
Must be taken in together,
To make up a space.
And a sphere.
And I think it no disgrace
To occupy my place.
If I'm not so large as you,
You are not so small as I,
And not half so spry.*
I'll not deny you make
A very pretty squirrel track;
Talents differ, all is well and wisely put,
If I cannot carry forests on my back,
Neither can you crack a nut.
* An American word meaning active.
|